And so he did. He turned to a new page, to a new bright illustration, that filled my mind with its beauty.

My son must be informed, I decided, and although Owen raised his brows, I took him with me from the Rose Tower to the royal apartments where Young Henry, at his lessons, smiled vaguely at Owen. He reluctantly took his attention from the book he held open on his lap, but he stood, laid the book down and bowed.

‘Good morning, maman.’ His manners were improving. He kissed my cheek.

‘I have married this man,’ I said without preamble. I had learned with Young Henry that to get straight to the point was good policy. He lost interest quickly.

‘Have you?’ he asked, looking at Owen. ‘I know you. You are Master Owen. You are Welsh.’

‘I am, my lord.’

‘I have never been to Wales. I wished to go to St Winifred’s well but they would not let me. Is Wales a wild place?’ he asked. ‘Have you ever lived there?’

‘Yes. And it is, my lord,’ Owen replied solemnly. ‘A land of mountains and rivers.’

That did not interest my son. ‘And do you speak Welsh?’ he asked. ‘I do not.’

‘I do, my lord.’

‘Say something to me in Welsh.’

Owen bowed very formally. ‘Yr wyf yn eich was ffyddlon, eich mawrhydi.’

Henry laughed in quick astonishment. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I am your loyal servant, Your Majesty.’

‘I like it. I like your new husband, maman.’ He turned back to his book. ‘I don’t think I will learn Welsh. I must know Latin and French. Perhaps I will send you a gift.’

We left him to his preoccupations. Henry was always generous with gifts.

‘You charmed him!’ I accused. ‘Just like you charmed me with a few Welsh words!’

‘Of course I did, annwyl.’ But although he slid an arm around my waist, his face was grim. ‘We might be in need of all the friends we can get. Even a nine-year-old boy, when he happens to be the boy-King.’

I sighed as Warwick eyed us with a disapproving air. It seemed that I would have to explain myself to every man at Court. Yes, I had known it would be like this but I felt that I must be constantly on the alert, quick with an answer. I was already weary of justifying myself and I had not been wed longer than a se’ennight. Warwick’s observation was trenchant.

‘Well, Katherine, this will stir up a hornet’s nest.’

‘Yes, Richard. I am aware of that.’ I raised my chin. ‘I do not regret it.’

‘I suppose there’s no point in me telling either of you that it would have been better not to do it.’

‘No,’ I replied.

‘Better for whom, my lord?’ Owen added. His patience was also wearing thin but his demeanour held all its old dignity.

‘Richard.’ I touched his arm when he shrugged his incomprehension. ‘I know what I have done. I know that I must answer for it. Will you support me before the Council?’

‘It’s not my support you need.’ His tone was bleak. ‘It’s Gloucester’s. And I don’t see you getting that.’

‘Why would it matter so much?’ I glanced at Owen. ‘We would not draw attention to ourselves. It is my wish to live privately in one of my dower properties. I would not bring disgrace on the Crown or my son. I have little place in his life now.’

‘Gloucester won’t see it like that. You defied him, Katherine. He’ll not brook defiance, not from anyone. You saw the battle royal that developed between him and Henry Beaufort. He’ll not tolerate opposition to any degree.’

‘He never did approve of me, did he?’ I smiled a little sadly.

‘No, he didn’t. He acknowledged your usefulness, but he has no admiration for the Valois. But now you’ve made a bitter enemy of him.’

I thought about the three brothers. Henry, who tolerated me. Gloucester, who actively disliked me. And Bedford, the only one to show me and my plight any understanding.

‘I wish Lord John were back in England. He would not be unsympathetic. He might sway the Council,’ I hazarded.

‘No chance of that.’ Warwick grimaced. ‘Affairs in France are too crucial and not in England’s favour.’

So I was on my own.

But I was not. Owen was all the strength I needed. His arm was warm and strong around my shoulder. I needed it.

Gloucester arrived before the end of the week, travelling from Westminster in one of the royal barges, standing in the prow, hands braced on hips like a carved figurehead.

‘His face is as red as a winter beet, my lady,’ Guille remarked. We were watching from the old Norman gateway as he disembarked. ‘Neither is he wasting any time.’ He leapt from boat to landing like a scalded cat.

‘I expect it will be even redder after he’s said what he has come to say,’ I replied. ‘I’m tempted to refuse to see him if he demands that I wait on him. Which he will.’

Sure enough, as soon as he had marched from river landing to entrance hall, he had sent a page at a run to summon me to the main audience chamber. A summoning, not a request, forsooth. So it was to be a bitingly cold and formal confrontation.

I spent a little time over my appearance, considering the ermine and cloth of gold then rejecting it as it would do nothing to assuage Gloucester’s fury. I did not run.

‘I think I should go alone,’ I said when I found Owen waiting for me at the foot of the staircase, neat and suave and authoritative in shin-length dark damask and chain of office. He was obviously, as Master of the Queen’s Household, out to make a statement.

‘Do you?’ he replied mildly.

‘As you said, it will only antagonise him. It might be worse if we see him together.’

Owen’s hand closed on the sable edge of my sleeve as I walked past him. There was no longer anything mild in his response. ‘And do you think I will allow you to face him alone?’

‘It would be for the best.’

‘But it will not happen. I will escort you.’

My relief was strong and for a brief moment I clasped his hand. ‘He might see reason, of course,’ I said consideringly, ‘and accept that what is done cannot be undone.’

I chose not to react to Owen’s jaundiced air.

It was a very brief meeting. There was no courtesy from Gloucester, no semblance of the good manners that he was so keen to see instilled into the Young King. He ignored Owen, addressing me as if he was not there, yet rampant hostility shimmered in the air between the two men.

‘So it’s true,’ he said, his delivery no less threatening for its extreme softness.

‘Yes.’

‘Words are wasted on you. You—both of you…’ now he glanced across with venom ‘… will present yourselves at Westminster. You are summoned to appear before the Royal Council to explain your aberrant behaviour.’

He looked me up and down, as if he could spy my thickening waist beneath the velvet pleating, yet there was no way of his knowing. I stood straight-backed, and kept my eyes fixed on Gloucester’s inimical regard.

‘I will agree to accompany you, of course,’ I replied, refusing to acknowledge that it had been a command. ‘I will explain to the Council. I know that I will be awarded a generous hearing.’

Gloucester left without further comment, enveloped in a cloud of ill humour.

‘Well, that went well,’ Owen observed, watching our guest stalk back to his river transport. ‘I think he saw reason, don’t you?’

How brave I had sounded, but in my heart was fear. I had always known that it would come to this.

Owen and I attended the Royal Council, as we were bidden. We were in no position to refuse, neither did we wish it. So there we were, with the proof of our marriage tucked in the breast of Owen’s tunic—Father Benedict had witnessed it with a disapproving scrawl at the foot of the document—and my belly still effectively disguised by the width of my skirts. The faces of those who sat in judgement on us were familiar to me, lords temporal and ecclesiastical come to condemn the Queen Dowager and her inappropriate lover.

And what a range of emotion slammed against us as we were announced into the Council Chamber, much as I had witnessed in my own household. Outrage and lascivious interest were uppermost. But some compassion, enough for one of the bishops to provide me with a stool. As I moved to sit, I looked up at Owen where he stood by my side, features well schooled into frozen courtesy, but then he smiled down at me, a sign of our love and one that I returned. Whatever they did, they could not destroy our union.

I might smile at Owen but fear hummed through my blood, and I knew he was not at ease. If he had worn a sword, he would have had a hand firmly on the hilt. Who was to know what Gloucester might persuade his fellow councillors to do? What if, deeming me untouchable, they took out their frustrations at my intransigence on Owen? A term in a dungeon in the Tower of London would not seem beyond the realms of possibility. As he too knew. We had talked about it late into the night.

‘What if they incarcerate you?’ I had asked.

‘They won’t.’

I did not believe him, but I let it lie, and loved him for his need to pluck troubles from my mind, as a blackbird gobbled the berries from a winter hawthorn. Would my consequence be sufficient to save him? I did not think it would. I had no consequence. Now I steeled myself, grasping what courage I could muster with both hands, to withstand the onslaught. When Gloucester had descended on Windsor, driven there by a gust of fury, he had been beyond words. He found them that day.

‘You have broken the terms of a legal statute, madam. You have defied the law of the land.’

I was barely seated, still disposing the folds of my skirts and removing my gloves.

‘Yes, my lord,’ I replied. ‘I have.’ Owen and I had discussed at length how we would manage this confrontation. Even though he did not touch me, I felt the tension in him, vibrating like a strummed lute string.